Relative Something

The results are in, and in my opinion, my performance at yesterday morning’s soccer [futsal] game was a mixture of success and failure. But that is a good thing. It would have been a surprise if it turned out to be just a smashing success. What would that be like, anyway; that I could play just fine with no pain? No, that would fool me into thinking I could go back to my old routine, and all indications point to that being a counterproductive plan of action.

I definitely felt some impairment due to the discomfort of my degenerative disc disease. However, that made it easier to remain very conscious of my situation and helped me to purposefully control my stride. I think I did a pretty good job of running with a very smooth gate, light on my feet, as opposed to the usual pounding I am prone to do. If that made me slower, I was compensating for it a bit by making early decisions about where I was going to go. I headed back into a defensive position much quicker than I would have previously.

That is actually a very smart mindset for me to get into, because now that I think of it, the clomping back to help on defense that I used to do, most often involved me chasing an opponent from behind, too late to do any good.

Although I believe it was entirely serendipitous, one of the successes I enjoyed was scoring goals! I’m generally not a very prolific goal scorer, but I had 4 really good goals that came from being fed beautiful passes when I was positioned on the far side of the net. It provided a nice reward and a feeling that I contributed something positive for having shown up. I think it would be a stretch to say that the attempt to soften my effort for this indoor game was responsible for the uncharacteristic increase in scoring prowess, but the goals sure served to sweeten the morning’s effort for me.

One of the failures of my attempt to play at a slower pace, with less physical impact, was turning the ball over when I had plenty of time to make a decision and execute a play. I just didn’t have my usual touch. Several times, the ball just got lost in my feet. One time, I actually swung to kick, and missed the ball. I was trying to shift my weight and keep my eyes up, and by the time I kicked, the ball had moved. Two times in particular, my turnover led to an immediate goal by the other team.

Another time, I misplayed an attempt to block a shot and it deflected off me, directly into our net. I wondered aloud if that was “a Hays,” because it led to the 5th and winning goal for the opponents, but players assured me it fell outside of the ‘own goal’ act associated with that label. I offered an opinion that it might deserve to be a sub-category.

It was a morning of mixed results, which I am taking as a promising outcome, overall.

Here we are again, with the clocks adjusted ahead, moving dusk beyond the dinner hour. That means darkness is delayed long enough that chores can be prolonged later into the evening. Oh, joy.

I spent the weekend removing wallpaper from 2 bathrooms. I am really glad that is done. Now I am struggling to figure out how to choreograph the next phases of drywall repair and painting. Ideally, the furniture should be moved to a neutral location, but we haven’t got a room that doesn’t need work. I have no idea where I am going to end up sleeping.

I will likely have to ask the crews doing the work to break the job up and just do portions at a time. That would allow me to empty some rooms by putting everything into a different room that will be done later.

On the surface, that may not seem like too big a deal, but I am here all by myself, and moving furniture alone is an onerous task, especially with degenerating discs in my spine.

It is less than a year now since I suffered the first symptoms of pain from degenerative disc disease, for which “the first line of treatment is usually to avoid aggravating the condition. Modifying activities to preclude lifting of heavy objects and playing sports that require rotating the back (e.g. golf, basketball or football) can be a good first step.” (from Lumbar Degenerative Disc Disease Treatments by Peter F Ullrich, Jr., MD)

On the subject of not playing sports that involve rotating the back (or pounding up and down the hardwood gym floor), I was considering canceling my membership to the sports club where we play our three-times-a-week morning futsal games, and just quitting cold turkey. I had already reduced my attendance to Mondays and Fridays, but since my most recent flare-up, haven’t played for 3-weeks, and I will have plenty of work to do on preparing the house for showings, and will ultimately be moving to a more rural area that will likely pull me away from the games anyway. It seems to me, quitting now would be a logical thing to do.

But… maybe I have played too many years with these guys to just disappear. Something is keeping me from taking that step that would guarantee the conclusion of my participation. Part of me is wondering about the possibility that I might experiment with altering my level of play to become more conscious of how I move during action. I could practice being light on my feet, and deliberate in my attempts. I will be a bit slower, and probably less effective. I’ll finally start acting my age out there. If I learn to play more prudently, I may be able to prolong my opportunities to mingle with a great collection of friends who share my love of soccer.

That is, until we move out to live with horses.

In my ongoing quest for optimal health, it is only logical that I need to choose a healthy diet. I have been lucky for most of my life to have had the freedom to make menu selections with reckless abandon. I’ve never reacted with any food allergies, and I’m not very persnickety about what goes into the food I eat. I have long practiced sparse usage of butter and salt at the table. I don’t like carbonated drinks, so I rarely drink soda pop. I don’t like coffee, so I don’t get much in the way of caffeine. That gives me a head start over plenty of Americans who have fallen into a pattern of poor choices in their daily diet.

My primary struggle, I thought, was with my penchant for sweet things.

Earlier this month, news reports revealed that scientists are suggesting sugar is toxic and should be taxed and regulated like tobacco and alcohol.

Americans consume on average more than 600 calories per day from added sugar, equivalent to a whopping 40 teaspoons.

Ouch.

But it got worse for me. That report was followed by another, this time from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, released about a week later, revealing the top 10 hidden sources of sodium in the American diet.

About 90% of Americans eat more sodium than is recommended for a healthy diet. …Americans eat on average about 3,300 mg of sodium a day. The U.S. Dietary Guidelines recommend limiting sodium to less than 2,300 mg a day, and about 6 out of 10 adults should further limit sodium to 1,500 mg a day.

Guilty. I was aware that I probably was ingesting more salt than I should, in addition to the sweets. What I didn’t realize was that the primary source of sodium wasn’t coming from the salty snacks on which I love to munch. Check out the link to the hidden sources. Bread and rolls are the number 1 source for salt in the American diet! Potato chips, pretzels, and popcorn are way down at the bottom of the 10-worst list.

I have explained before that when I cut down on sweets, I tend to switch to eating more breads. It seems I’ve been moving from one ill to another.

Last week, I finally buckled down and actually read some food labels in an effort to witness this excess of sodium I’m eating. Shocking, I tell you. Shocking! First of all, I discovered that a serving size for bread is one slice. So with every sandwich I make, I’m eating a double serving? I guess my sandwiches are supposed to be open faced. If bread is so loaded with sodium, why the heck doesn’t it taste salty!?

Then I peeked at some cookies a friend gave me. Serving size: 2 cookies, sodium: 120mg. That’s 5% of the recommended daily allowance, right there. But these cookies are really, really good. Irresistibly good. I ate 6. That’s 360mg of sodium. They sure didn’t taste salty. Too bad that I was eating these as a chaser for my main course of pizza… number 3 on the evil list.

Next I looked at the boxes of cereal in my cupboard. They are all lined up so I can easily compare and most appear to be in a range from the best of 60mg (Shredded Wheat) up to 200mg. Then comes my long-time favorite, 100% natural, whole grain wheat with barley, Post Grape-Nuts at a whopping 12% of my daily sodium, 290mg.

I looked closer. The majority of those cereals define their serving size at 1 Cup, but a few switch to 3/4 Cup just to make it interesting. Then comes good ol’ Grape-Nuts. That heaviest dose of sodium is coming from the smallest serving size of 1/2 Cup! I’m pretty sure I’ve been getting about 25% of my daily sodium every time I eat those crunchy nuggets of goodness.

If I’m going to get that much sodium, I would prefer that it taste salty to fulfill that craving. Pass me the Cheez-Its. This healthy diet thing is going to be a struggle.

I have been known to wonder what it would be like if I lost my wife to some accident or illness. It seems like a morbid thought, but less macabre and not so uncommon, you might hear the phrase, “What would you do without her?”

Well, with Cyndie living in Boston, I am getting a chance to find out.

Our intent was to use FaceTime to keep in contact across the miles of distance. We’ve succeeded a couple of times, leaving the connection open while we each went about our separate business, creating a feeling of being together. It worked pretty well for that. Unfortunately, Cyndie’s schedule isn’t providing very many opportunities for this kind of connecting. More often than not, we have been spending our days out of contact. I am left to fend for myself.

It takes a toll. No doubt about it, when days go by and you don’t talk with the person who would otherwise be your most intimate relationship, there is a loss of intimacy. I find myself inclined to put up a protective barrier in defense. After a while, I don’t want to talk with her. It is so counter-productive to the ultimate goal that it seems ludicrous, but that is the natural reaction that occurs to me.

This is a classic example of depressive thinking. It is dysfunctional, but the unhealthy mind presents it as a logical, helpful defense.

If I was feeling a lack of intimacy in my childhood, and it felt natural to create a protective barrier in defense, it would explain how I now feel so comfortable with this reaction. I’ve had years of practice. It feels right, not talking to the person closest to me. My father taught me well. He was a master at shunning my mom.

It is a goal of mine to invert the pyramid of dysfunction that passes from generation to generation. I want to be healthier than my father, and I am hoping to imprint better health on my children to equip them to become healthier than me.

I need to go call Cyndie.

This is what I learned yesterday after my visit to an allergist: I respond to dust mites, an outdoor mold, and cats. It may, or may not, be triggering an asthma response. My asthma is relatively mild.

There is no longer a cat living in my house. The coming freeze of winter will end exposure to outdoor molds. There are steps I can take to control my exposure to dust mites. I can take a higher dose of control medication, half as often, to control my asthma symptoms. All things considered, my health problems are hardly serious concerns.

The controlled exposure to allergens was not difficult for me at all. I was given the back scratches and didn’t experience any severe reaction. The particular areas of irritation are visible as a reddening, which they measure to record a reading. I hardly noticed any ill effects until I was driving home. Then I started to feel a headache and for the rest of the day felt out of sorts, with some general body aches felt like the onset of illness. It didn’t help my general mood, either. I started to get kind of grouchy, but that might be more a result of the constant clamor overhead at the day-job from workers redoing the flat roof. Everyone was growing weary of the constant drone of the roofer’s radio, tuned to a station that sounded like non-stop mariachi music. But, it is probably the sudden unidentifiable booms and bangs that take the greater toll. What the heck are they dropping up there?

Most importantly, from the appointment with the allergy doctor, there is no indication of my being allergic to horses or to hay. I better get to work on the finishing touches of preparing our home for sale in the spring. Full dream ahead!

This morning is another calm and beautiful day up at the lake. Picture perfect. It is odd to think about the comparison between the incredible serenity here as I write this, and the intense drama playing out at the same time on the east coast under hurricane Irene. It is very similar to something that is happening in the world of health and wellness related to a little spirochete or corkscrew-shaped bacteria named Borrelia burgdorferi that is the cause of Lyme disease.

Last night, Cyndie’s parents arrived for the weekend, and they brought a movie to watch called, “Under Our Skin.” It is a documentary that reveals the hidden story of the epidemic of Lyme disease occurring now that is being intentionally disregarded by a health care system and medical establishment willing to put profits ahead of people. It is shameful.

It boggles my mind that an intelligent society can fall to this level of collective depravity. Like many other despicable economic situations we have allowed to play out, corporate greed, banks and lending, farming and the food industry, oil & gas… we are letting the same thing happen directly with our health care. I guess the end result is the same. The food we have available to eat has become so processed in the last 30+ years, it is almost impossible to consume a healthy diet. It is getting increasingly difficult to afford a home or fuel for everyday life. Why not include doctor’s care and pharmaceuticals in the list of things that put individuals at risk for the profit of a select few.

My wife, Cyndie, has direct experience with Lyme disease, lending this documentary increased impact for us. She endured an undetected onset of the illness for some time, until one morning she woke up with undeniable neurological dysfunction, most notably, facial paralysis of Bell’s palsy. It took a chunk of time for the cause of her variety of ailments to be treated as Lyme disease, and when they finally did, administering long-term massive doses of antibiotics through a PICC line, she experienced significant recovery.

To this day, it is unclear whether the little bugger spirochetes still linger in her system. The bacteria can form a biofilm that serves to protect the organisms from the antibiotics. They have the ability to hide or mask themselves. The corkscrew shape allows them to drill through tissue, similar to the bacterium that causes syphilis.

Why isn’t syphilis an epidemic? Why have we managed previous illnesses like the HIV/AIDs afflictions with long-term drug treatment protocols? What is different now? Well, we now allow genes to be patented and there are huge profits available to those who control drugs and disease. Insurance companies have a vested interest in avoiding expensive long-term care. By working in collusion, doctors who stand to profit are serving on panels establishing treatment protocols. At the same time, doctors electing to treat patients outside of the unrealistic protocols that have been established, are prosecuted and their licenses revoked.

Meanwhile, there is evidence that this under-treated Lyme spirochete is turning up in the brains of Alzheimer’s victims. Why would we allow our health care system to become so dysfunctional that it allows people to suffer untreated?

There is a hurricane of illness out there, and the majority of people are unaware. It is a calm day of normal health from their vantage point.

With little in the way of fanfare, yesterday marked my return to the game of soccer. I have not been cleared to play on the wood floor at the health club yet, but my physical therapist told me to give it a test outdoors on the grass. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was whining about my exercise choice being reduced to walking? What a difference a day can make.

The game went pretty well. I enjoyed more success than I expected. The back felt fine throughout. More importantly, the release of endorphins and the moral support of teammates does wonders for my psyche. Ian has it so right, with his comments here Saturday, regarding negative framing. I have spent more years cultivating a depressed mental foundation than years seeking optimal health. It can be a challenge for me.

If you know about bearings and raceways, there is a flaw when the raceway gets ‘scored’. The raceway is supposed to be completely smooth, but with wear, or as a result of being over-tightened and maybe suffering a dramatic impact, an indent can form. Instead of the bearing freely rolling in the raceway, there will be a divot that the ball bearing will naturally settle into.

I have a well-honed divot in my mental state where my whole being –mind, body, and soul– comfortably settles if left unchecked. All the knowledge I have gained about myself in the years since identifying my depression has yet to completely remove that ‘divot’. I practice methods of keeping myself moving and am able to recognize the signs and symptoms when I am falling back into that low spot. My thoughts and words are powerful tools to direct my outcome. Having a regular dose of exercise-induced endorphins and the added bonus of positive interactions with other people, doesn’t hurt my cause, either.

It is all part of the ongoing maintenance package that is my reality. In all honesty, even writing here serves as one of the exercises I employ. When I am finding it difficult to write and create, it offers a clue for me to assess my status. When I write about my experience with depression, it helps me to process it. If, perchance, it happens to help inform and inspire others, that is a wonderful added bonus.

Thanks for reading.

Last night, I splurged on a treat of ice cream after dinner. I garnished it with my all-time favorite topping, Grape-Nuts cereal. I must have been in a contemplative mood, because the pouring of Grape-Nuts triggered a deep sense of appreciation for how much I love that cereal on my ice cream and how much I love ice cream.

A long time ago, maybe starting back when I suffered a kidney stone, I realized I needed to be prudent about my ice cream indulgences. If I dropped my guard and let my whimsy direct my actions, I believe I would choose to have ice cream for breakfast, lunch, dinner and several snacks in between. I love the coldness of ice cream more than anything, and the texture, or range of textures, is a close second. The flavor is almost trivial, except for the fact that it provides variety, and I am all over variety. It would be a tragedy to eat so much ice cream that I become bored with it. Although, come to think of it, coffee flavor in my ice cream is one thing than can render the treat intolerable and unpalatable.

When our children were young, one skill we intended to nurture was self-control over food treats. I remember one particular incident with Julian when he asked how many cookies he could have. Our answer was in the form of a question. “How many do you think you should have?” Whether he wanted to, or not, he thought about it and made a sensible choice. From that moment on, we were able to allow him to work on managing that kind of decision himself. You don’t have to stop at just one, but there is a sensible upper limit that falls short of being excessive. There is an art to mastering the discernment and control which allows for successful functioning within that range.

For myself, regarding ice cream, I practice a strict control. There was a time in my life when I had ice cream available by the gallon in my freezer. There have also been times when I asked that it not be purchased at all for our home freezer. We have been known to substitute a frozen fruit bar to sooth my cravings. I don’t mind them, but sometimes, instead of relishing their delicacies, all I can do is notice how NOT like ice cream they are.

One thing my strict rationing of ice cream does do for me lately is it helps me really, really appreciate everything I love about the treat. Last night I allowed myself to do just that with my favorite topping and a few simple scoops of vanilla flavor in a big bowl. From the first hard bites to the latter soft mix with crunchy cereal, I wallowed in a life-time of fondness for this favorite treat.

As satisfying as that was, it also triggered a craving to have it for breakfast this morning, for lunch today, and a snack between that and dinner. It’s back to strict control for me. I love ice cream that much.

Ever since I was positively diagnosed as having asthma by a pulmonary specialist in 2008, I have been at a loss to understand it. I had no clue that the physical reality I had been experiencing was not normal health. The test data showed that my below normal lung performance improved with a dose of medication. The doctor prescribed a daily control medicine.

I started taking it as prescribed, even though I wasn’t able to clearly detect a beneficial result. I was such an unconvinced patient that my clinic prescribed a device to measure my lung volume to help me gauge my status. I used my medication through the period I was trekking in the Himalayan mountains, yet still had breathing difficulties that forced me to depart from the main group I was traveling with and descend early. After I got home, I grew weary of maintaining the routine of twice-a-day inhaler doses. I went rogue and stopped using the control medication.

After a 4 or 5 months, I got a cold that settled in my chest and never seemed to release its grip. I checked in with my clinic and they renewed my prescription for the control medication.

In my mind, I only knew of asthma as an affliction that influences its victims by way of attacks; flare ups that caused a person to struggle for breath. That is not how it affects me. A flare up for me appears slowly over many days. My lungs become inflamed, giving me a wheeze and a cough. It is not something that requires a rescue inhaler.

I stayed on that dosage routine for a few months until I again grew weary of the routine. I made the (basically uninformed) decision to quit trying to remember to use the inhaler twice a day, and cut my dosage in half by only using it once a day. Eventually, my curiosity led me to stop altogether, despite warnings on the package against doing so without consulting my doctor.

My reason for stopping the medication is that I want to find out what condition my lungs are in without any treatment. Is it the same as when I was first diagnosed, back when I had no clue my lung function was not normal? Or is it worse, to the point that I need to maintain the daily medication to be free of a chronic wheeze and cough?

 So far, I am experiencing an increasing level of obvious unhealthy lung symptoms. My self-diagnosis experiment does not offer much in the way of knowing if it will stop getting worse and reach a stasis. It has been three weeks now since I stopped, and I am beginning to wonder if I will be able to tell when I am at the new un-medicated normal. Is there a bottom point to be reached? Time will tell.

I have taken a break from playing soccer for over a week and a half to give my sprained ankle time to heal. Yesterday, I noticed the ankle was feeling mostly pain-free and decided it should be ready to do a little running and kicking again.

When I sat for a short while last night, upon finishing a late dinner, after a very long and taxing day at work, I was overwhelmed with exhaustion. I could hardly keep my eyes open. So, my ankle feels ready to go, but the rest of me is too fatigued to give it the support it needs, especially in a return effort from injury. I elected to sleep the extra two hours and wait until Monday to start playing again.

It is amazing how much effort it takes to maintain the routine of staying fit. A little hitch in the program and it can be like climbing mountains to get back to my pre-injury regimen.

Meanwhile, each day that I delay beginning my cycling season, makes me feel more anxious about getting that passion re-started. Sometimes I wonder if I will remember how to ride a bike. I’m hoping it’s been more a function of the weather than my body’s readiness. A nice, calm, warm sunny day will do wonders for my motivation. It will be really helpful if that occurs on a Saturday or Sunday, too. The day-job is consuming a lot of the daylight hours, and most of my energy, lately.

I think I’ll just go back to remembering when I was a boy, and the oodles of free time I enjoyed, riding my bike for hours and hours of care-free fun. Wasn’t that a healthy routine? Too bad thinking about it doesn’t do anything to strengthen my legs and harden my butt to the pressure of that saddle.

I’m clinging to the wisdom that, once over that initial mountain, it is all smooth, pleasant sailing.

What routine? That routine!